Page 47 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

‘Er – hello.’

‘Good morning, your highness. You … don’t have anything else to wear?’ Bridget said, tilting her head slightly as she considered Gwen. If she were in a better mood, Gwen might have enjoyed being considered, even if her sartorial choices were being found wanting.

‘Um. Not really.’

‘Well – I suppose it doesn’t matter. Probably best you learn in a dress anyway, if you’re always wearing one.’ They began to walk down the corridor, a couple of feet of space between them, Gwen falling into step with Bridget and then intentionally lengthening her gait so it didn’t look like she was trying to do some sort of synchronised walking.

Gwen had attended combat training in the north-west yard before; she had watched Gabriel there, had sat on the wall eating buns and swinging her legs, waiting for him to be finished so that they could play. As she had grown olderand fallen into her own daily routine, she had stopped going with him. It had never entered her head to ask for a training sword of her own.

She still wasn’t sure she actually wanted to learnnow; last night she had been giddy from proximity to Bridget, and desperate to elicit some more. In the cold light of day she felt sure the whole thing would be a disaster. As Bridget greeted the Master of Arms, Sir Dhawan, and requested a sword, Gwen picked at her fingers and tried to push down the mounting dread.

‘A sword? For the princess?’ Sir Dhawan said, frowning.

‘Yes. She wishes to learn the basics of combat.’

‘Well …’ the Master of Arms said slowly, looking around as if expecting Gwen’s father to appear out of thin air. ‘I’m sorry, but I would need to ask the king. Get special permissions. It’s not the sort of thing we usually—’

‘It’s for a play,’ Gwen said suddenly, desperate to end this conversation as quickly as possible. ‘It’s for a play I’m putting on. For Father’s birthday. You wouldn’t spoil the surprise?’

‘No,’ said Sir Dhawan, clearly not convinced but unwilling to call her a liar. ‘Well. I suppose – no.’ He handed Bridget the blunted practice swords she had requested without any further complaints.

‘Have you ever held a sword before?’ Bridget said when they had relocated to the centre of the courtyard.

‘No,’ Gwen said miserably. She was holding it gingerly, letting the point trail against the cobblestones. ‘I suppose that’s obvious, isn’t it.’

Bridget smiled, arching an eyebrow. ‘You’re gripping it like it’s going to bite you.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘Unlikely,’ said Bridget, adjusting her own grip. ‘Unless it’s a cursed,magicalsword.’

‘Well, how do I know if it’s cursed?’

‘Hold it like this – that’s it, watch my fingers – there you go. Now give it a swing. If you don’t open a portal to hell, then you’re probably fine.’

Gwen laughed despite herself, encouraged by Bridget’s firm, good-humoured guidance; she didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. She gave the sword an experimental swing.

‘Good. You need to get used to the weight of it first. Feet shoulder-width apart, and bring that leg forward. Watch me – do what I do.’

Gwenwaswatching her. Bridget had transitioned easily into the fighting stance that she had seen many times during the tournament; it looked entirely natural on her, like she had been born to do it. Her eyes were fixed on Gwen’s, her expression serious as she waited for Gwen to mirror her movements.God, Gwen thought wistfully.I hope she stabs me.

Bridget straightened up slightly. ‘Er … you’re just standing there.’

‘Oh. Yes. Sorry,’ Gwen said, lifting her sword again and trying to hold herself like Bridget, knowing that she probably looked ridiculous.

‘Good. Don’t lean forward on your front foot. Keep your weight evenly distributed – look at my feet, not my face, your highness.’

Gwen blushed and shifted slightly, hoping she was distributing something. ‘Please, just call me Gwen. Like this?’

‘Yes. Gwen. Now, just – give it a go. Try to hit me.’

‘Um. Okay,’ Gwen said, attempting a clumsy forward swing; she tried her best to put some force into it, and when Bridget’s sword came almost lazily up to meet hers they collided loudly, a shockwave reverberating down Gwen’s arm. Her reward was a proper smile from Bridget, briefly dazzling and then gone. That reverberated too.

‘That’s good. Make sure you don’t swing too wide. Let’s do it again.’

‘Your father really didn’t mind teaching this to a girl?’ Gwen said as their swords came together, already breathing harder than usual. ‘Or – you becoming a knight? Any of it?’

‘No,’ Bridget said, in perfect control of her own breathing. ‘My parents might be the only people in England who didn’t.’ There was a brief pause, as Gwen had dropped her sword entirely; she retrieved it and tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to remember where her feet were supposed to be. ‘People were very … difficult about me becoming a squire, let alone entering the lists. I was turned away for years. Even at the local tourneys, where they’d let a dog compete if it could stand on its hind legs for long enough to meet the marshal.’